You're In My Head
by angellwings
Summary: [Brettsey] [One Shot] [8x16 tag] Sylvie and Matt discuss their evening apart and the emotions that resulted from it.


**A/N: **So, this is a tag to 8x16. If you haven't seen it yet then come back later. It picks up after Sylvie's gotten home from the drinks she was having with Julie at the end of the ep and after Severide, Kidd, and Casey's dinner.

Happy reading!

Angellwings

* * *

You're In My Head

By angellwings

* * *

"Is it cool that I said all that?

Is it chill that you're in my head?

'Cause I know that it's delicate,

Delicate.

Is it cool that I said all that?

Is it too soon to do this yet?

'Cause I know that it's delicate,

Isn't it?"

-"Delicate" by Taylor Swift

* * *

Her birth mother is moving to Chicago.

That feels...monumental and terrifying but she'd be lying if she said it didn't also put a bit of a hopeful spring in her step.

But even more terrifying than that…

The first person she wants to tell is _Matt_.

This confiding back and forth that they're doing, it has to stop at some point, doesn't it? Is it a permanent change to the status quo? Or is it a phase? Does it mean anything more than friendship? It's hard to tell with Matt. She reminds herself of what she told Julie a few days ago. She and Casey are _just_ friends. She needs to try and maintain a little distance. She knows her own heart and getting too close can be dangerous. If she's not careful then this crush will run away with her and Casey won't follow.

So, instead of Matt, she tells Foster.

"Wow," Foster says with raised eyebrows. "So she could potentially be a _real_ part of your life?"

"Yeah," Sylvie replies with a grin and an uncertain shrug. "I guess so."

Foster hands her a glass of wine and then settles onto the couch next to her. Sylvie leans back against the arm rest while stretching her legs until they cover Emily's lap.

"Worried?" Emily asks knowingly.

Sylvie huffs and nods. "Worried it might all suddenly disappear and I'll have gotten my hopes up for nothing."

Foster looks thoughtful, as if considering how best to offer and comfort, and then asks, "What did Casey say?"

The surprise of that question for Sylvie to rear back, as if physically blown away by Emily's words. "What?"

"I mean, I assume you told him. You tell him pretty much everything lately," Emily replies with a barely visible grin.

"I—I do not," she protests weakly.

"Okay," Foster says with a derisive snort. "Whatever you say."

She is the second person to say that exact same phrase to her in reference to Casey this week. Is she really leaning on Casey _that_ much?

Sylvie sticks her chin out defiantly as she responds. "For your information, I haven't talked to him since our shift ended."

Foster focuses a sympathetic smile on her and pats her knee — a patronizing gesture if there ever was one. "I believe you."

There's a beat and then suddenly they're back to the topic at hand. Emily's eyes turn kind and warm and she continues. "All I can tell you is what I would do. My mother was a hardass. Definitely not mother of the year. But I would still give almost anything for more time with her. Don't let fear keep you from getting close. I mean, I get being cautious, and I certainly don't want to have go after a pregnant lady if she does you dirty, but I say go with your gut on this one. Just...be the brave ball of constant sunshine you already are, Partner, and it'll all work out."

_It'll all workout…_

God, she hopes so.

Thinking about things "working out" leads her to Matt's recent detective work. Did he find the guy? Her fingers flex against her wine glass and itch to pull her phone out of the pocket of her hoodie, but then she remembers this conversation is happening with Foster instead of Matt for a reason. If he wants to update her on the mysterious car in the lake situation then he will. It is not her place to ask or pry.

Is it?

Emily clears her throat with a knowing smirk. "Whatcha thinking about, Brett?"

"Nothing," she answers, too quickly. "I spaced for a second."

"Mhm, sure," Foster says laughingly. "You can text him if you want. I won't judge."

She bites her bottom lip and considers her options for several seconds before finally shaking her head. "No. It's fine. I'll just talk to him next shift. No big deal."

"Ah-ha!" She exclaims. "So you _have_ been thinking about Casey!"

Sylvie winces and then points an outraged finger at Emily. "You made it sound like you knew! That was a dirty trick!"

Emily cackles and pumps a fist victoriosly. "I suspected but _you _outed yourself, sweetheart."

She manages to fight off a grin for the sake of a dramatic pout. "I hate you."

"Please, you hate no one. Maybe you don't forgive the rare unashamed asshole, but you _never_ hate," Foster says with a dismissive chuckle. "Besides, you can't hate me. I'm the person who keeps you from repressing this cavity inducing crush you have. You love me for it."

She's right. She does love her for it.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket and she sets the wine aside to check. It could be Julie with an emergency. While she's been in town, Sylvie has felt an unavoidable responsibility for her. It's not like she knows anyone else in Chicago.

But it's not Julie.

It's _Matt_.

The huge smile that overtakes her face is a bit embarrassing. She really needs to get a handle on this crush.

"_Just wanted to let you know, I found the guy. And, get this, his FOUR_ _kids."_

She stares at the notification on her lockscreen, debating whether or not to reply now or wait, when another message from him comes through.

"_How'd drinks with Julie go_?"

He remembered she was going out with Julie? She only mentioned it once in passing, and not even to him. Stella invited her over for a calorie rich meal to celebrate the end of her "diet", and Sylvie had to decline because of her plans with Julie. Sure, Casey was there, but she didn't think he'd been paying attention. She was obviously wrong.

The idea that he was listening even when she wasn't talking to him is so sweet that she can't resist replying.

Not that she truly wants to resist, that is.

Foster quirks a brow and peers over at her with a smug expression. "Let me guess, Casey?"

Sylvie doesn't bother answering. Her blush does that for her. Foster chuckles quietly at Sylvie's pointed silence and moves her legs off of her lap.

"I'm just gonna take my wine and go to my room," she declares. "And let you two do whatever it is you do in peace."

She wants to say thank you but that might be tipping her hand so she settles for, "Good night, Emily!" As Foster walks away.

Her fingers move at a rapid fire pace the second she's alone.

"_FOUR kids?! Are you serious? What a dirtbag! Glad you tracked him down! And drinks with Julie was...interesting. Good interesting. Stella's dinner go well? Has she come down from being hangry yet?"_

His next reply ignores everything she asked him. He focuses on one thing. She's not surprised by that in the least. He always knows how to get to the heart of the matter.

"_Good interesting meaning…?"_

"_Meaning she and her husband are moving to Chicago. That kind of good interesting."_

The dots at the bottom of the message window waver for barely ten seconds and then stop completely. She wonders what the hold up could be and then nearly jumps out of her skin a moment later. Her phone blares her ringtone and Matt's name lights up the screen. He's _calling _her?

She takes a deep nervous breath and answers on the second ring.

* * *

After dinner, Severide and Kidd curl up on the couch for a movie. The apartment gets quiet, and when the apartment gets quiet, his thoughts get loud. He can't stop thinking about what Sylvie admitted in the bunkroom a few days back. Somehow, everything keeps circling back to it.

"_I don't want to get too close."_

"_I can't help but feel like she's just gonna disappear again."_

"_It brings up some old feelings I don't really want to remember."_

She could have hit him with a sledgehammer at that moment and it wouldn't have had as much impact as her words. Jesus, his chest felt like she'd put it in a vice and was slowly squeezing the air out of his lungs. Fears and doubts and old pain came out of all the cracks and crevices of his mind and the curtain he'd draped over his heart to hide it from view was suddenly ripped away.

_He's_ afraid to get too close. _He's _afraid Sylvie might disappear. _She_ brings up old feelings he doesn't really want to remember.

On some level, he's known he was avoiding this, _her_, from the beginning - from that first moment he looked at her and felt..._it_. "It" being the softest click of a new connection locking into place. He's trying to remember now the first moment he felt it and the moments just keep going further and further back. He's shocking himself as he connects the dots.

There are traces of it before the Chaplain came around, while he was pursuing Naomi. Small things like how freaking adorable Sylvie was while drunk. The way she amused him that night tempted him to linger just a little longer than he should. Ultimately, he didn't, but he _thought _about it. He enjoyed spending that moment with her.

Maybe it went further back than that but that's the furthest he can currently recall recognizing something felt _different_. From there it's a winding path that includes his guilt over playing a part in Sheffield ending things the first time around and trying to navigate being single again with Sylvie's overenthusiastic guidance. Through it all, he held back, just a little - never wanting to get too close. Even after he admitted to himself that he found Sylvie completely charming he continued to hold back. No one knew about his shifting perspective on Brett. Only him. That was entirely by design. Firstly, it wasn't anyone's business and, secondly, if he never said it outloud then he could pretend it wasn't happening.

Which he promptly did the minute Kyle stepped back into the picture. Looking back, that night he saw Kyle chatting with Sylvie at Molly's, he absolutely overcorrected. He assumed he knew what he witnessed, but he didn't. That assumption could be viewed as a simple mistake, but he knows now that wasn't it. It was a defense mechanism.

An easy out.

He left before there was even anything to leave. He left before she could leave him - even if they weren't together. That didn't matter to his completely illogical brain. He was feeling big complicated things for her and he didn't want to. Because if he let himself lean into that and she left him, just like everyone else he's ever loved, he'd find himself in the midst of all that misery he'd _just finished_ wading through.

The fear of that was too great to face.

So he didn't.

Instead, he tripped over his own damn feet and inadvertently became the voice in her head that convinced her to accept Kyle's proposal.

And then she actually did leave him. And 51. And the CFD. And all of fucking Chicago.

Because of _his_ dumbass moment of panic.

So, he moved on as best he could, especially in light of losing Otis, and when she inevitably came home (because 51 without Sylvie Brett was _never_ going to work) he hit the reset button. He pretended he'd never had even one mildly interested thought about Sylvie Brett. Again because he didn't want to get too close, she might disappear, and remembering old scars was too hard.

But he should have known that wouldn't last long. He should've seen it coming. This whole time he's been standing in the train tunnel he should have been listening for the low whistle and the steaming chug of the train, but he wasn't. So now he's staring down a bright burning light and furiously fast engine with absolutely no means of escape.

Now, he has a choice.

He can either try and hit reset again (which, let's be honest, will likely buy him a few months of avoidance at most) or he can fucking _own it_. He can allow himself to be open to what seems to already organically be happening with Sylvie. He can stop living in denial and start puzzling out her behavior to see where she might stand. If his feelings would be intrusive or unsettling for her in any way then he doesn't want to ruin their friendship over it, but if there's even the slightest chance she feels this change too then he wants to know.

He _has_ to know.

"You okay over there, Casey?" Stella asks with a smirk.

"Yeah," he replies, blinking slowly as he realizes he'd been staring at the same pack of wall for who knows how many minutes.

"Still thinking about the con artist?" Severide asks skeptically. "Or maybe something else all together?"

Kidd grins and nods. "Something else like the other thing we talked about? Finding your _person_, maybe?"

He's noticed she switched it from plural to singular and he wonders if the thoughts she shared earlier were meant to be a hint. If so, Stella Kidd sucks at hints. He didn't get that at all until just now.

"No, I'm good," he lies. He grins through the lie. Neither one of them buy it and he knows it, but he doesn't give a shit. Again, it's none of their business unless he wants it to be. Which, for now, he doesn't.

He pointedly turns his attention back to the movie to avoid his friends' knowing smirks, but only for five minutes or so. His thoughts drift back to Brett and the reason she's not here tonight. Foster invited her, but she said she couldn't. She was going out to dinner and drinks with her birth mother.

He glances down at the time on his phone. It's pretty late by now. Surely, she's home. He could text her - just to check in. Julie gave her a big scare last time. No reason he can't make sure things are still okay. Or...or he did tell her about Lisa and the con artist. He told her he was going to track the guy down. But he hadn't had the chance to let her know how it all ended. Not yet.

There it is. That's it. Finally, the perfect excuse, he thinks with a crooked grin.

He can feel eyes on him as he types out a text. He forces himself to ignore it. Who cares if he's being obvious as hell? Not him. Not anymore.

"_Just wanted to let you know, I found the guy. And, get this, his FOUR_ _kids."_

Should he have asked about her? Was it rude not to? Oh, hell.

Quickly, he adds, "_How'd drinks with Julie go_?"

He holds his breath as the seconds tick past without a response. The message status changes from delivered to "read" but the dots don't appear. He feels like this is all happening in slow motion. Is this a 'watched pot never boils' situation or-

"_FOUR kids?! Are you serious? What a dirtbag! Glad you tracked him down! And drinks with Julie was...interesting. Good interesting. Stella's dinner go well? Has she come down from being hangry yet?"_

He grins at Sylvie's outrage and her use of 'dirtbag'. He called him a scumbag so that wasn't too far off. More often than not, he can count on Sylvie to see eye to eye with him and if she ever doesn't he'll take it seriously enough to reconsider his own opinion. Maybe he won't change his mind, but if Sylvie stands her ground then she has a damn good reason. It would demand his consideration, at the very least.

But then he moves on to her vague answer about Julie and his brow furrows in concern. Good interesting? What does that mean? After watching her spend last week so disappointed, he'd hate to think something else has happened to complicate things with Julie.

"_Good interesting meaning…?"_

"_Meaning she and her husband are moving to Chicago. That kind of good interesting."_

Holy shit!

What? Considering how hesitant she was to start this relationship with Julie, out of fear it might hurt her parents, he wonders if she's okay with this. He wonders if she's thrilled about it or hesitant. He begins to type a message out to ask her how she feels about that, but as he's typing he realizes that no matter how she answers him he won't get the insight he wants. Not over text. Sylvie wears her heart on her sleeve, it's true, but she's never one to really be dramatic or draw attention to herself. Her words may seem deceptively calm.

The only way to really know how she feels about this situation is to see her or...hear her. He gulps down nerves and taps her name at the top of the screen. He stares at the audio button for far too long. He's called her before but that was _before_. Before he realized he'd been keeping her an arm's length away. Before he realized he didn't want to keep her away any longer. Before he'd always had a reason besides just wanting to hear her voice (or at least he told himself he did).

His heart is pounding in his chest and his palms are sweating.

What is wrong with him? He hasn't been this nervous to call a girl since high school! He is a grown ass man. This is just a phone call. He runs into burning buildings every damn day. Calling Sylvie is _nothing._ Nothing!

Except it's not nothing. Not really.

He blows out a frustrated breath at his own ridiculousness. He hears a muted chuckle from the couch and glances over just in time to see Stella jerk her head in the direction of the television. With a roll of his eyes, he decides to relocate. There's too big of an audience here.

While he walks, he grits his teeth and taps out the options to dial Brett's number.

Seize the moment, Matt. _Do something._

He almost hangs up after the first ring. Should he have texted her and asked if he could call? Was just calling out of the blue considered rude now? He's not very good at knowing all the ways social etiquette has evolved since smartphones. He powers through and he's glad he does.

She answers after the second ring.

"Matt?" She asks brightly.

He closes his bedroom door behind him and kicks off his shoes before settling back onto his bed. "Hey, sorry, is it okay that I called? Were you busy?"

"No, not busy at all," she assures him.

"Text messages just didn't seem enough for talking about your mom," Matt confesses, self consciously. He's gripping the phone too tightly, but his palms are still sweating so if he doesn't he's afraid he'll drop the phone.

"You mean that you can't read me like an open book if you can't at least hear my voice," Sylvie replies with a teasing warmth to her voice that soothes his nerves.

He chuckles lightly. "Ya got me." He leans against the headboard and stares up at the ceiling, trying to imagine Sylvie's face as she talks. It's easier than it should be. He's memorized her a little too easily. "So, Julie's moving to Chicago, huh?"

"Mhm. Her husband's transferring. He's tried to before but she's never wanted to…" Her sentence trails off and he can hear her hesitate to say the obvious out loud.

He thinks he knows why so he says it instead. "She's never wanted to until you?"

She sighs and replies with a voice so soft he nearly misses it. "Yeah, until me."

"Are you okay with that?" He asks worriedly. "I mean, how do you feel about all of this?"

She breathes in and out deliberately as she thinks over his question. "Hopeful."

But her tone is stilted like she has more to say. He hears guilt and disappointment in her voice. She doesn't _sound_ hopeful. "Hopeful but…?" He asks.

She huffs but it comes out as more of a laugh. "Can't get anything past you, can I?"

"Not so much, no," he tells her with a dry chuckle. He prompts her again. "Hopeful _but_…?"

"Hopeful but like-like I shouldn't be. I feel hope but there's this pit in my stomach trying to talk me out of it. If that makes any sense?"

He swallows down a scoff. If that makes sense? That's exactly how he feels about whatever is happening between the two of them. "It makes perfect sense."

"I don't know. I keep trying to weigh the risk."

"Risk?" He asks. He's not entirely sure what she means. The risk of her mother leaving again?

"-Of getting hurt. All night I've been asking myself if the potential happiness outweighs the potential hurt."

That's an interesting way to put it. If the possibility for happiness is greater than the possibility for pain then at the very least, it won't be a decision you regret. Or at least it wouldn't for him. He's lost a lot of people in his life and it's always been painful, but the happy times with them outweigh the sad so, even if they're no longer here, that makes knowing them worth it.

He tries not to use that scale on Brett, but his mind goes there anyway. He has no say in any of this. "Does it? Does the happiness outweigh the risks?"

"I haven't decided yet." Her answer is conflicted and truthful. There's no attempt at any false brightness. She's being completely unguarded and genuine. It feels like a gift he doesn't deserve. "I'm leaning toward yes. I _think_ the potential happiness outweighs the hurt. _Maybe._ I just need a little more time to figure it out."

Me too, he thinks. On both counts. He thinks being with Sylvie might be worth the risk but he'd love a little more time to really sort it out.

"You don't have to rush to figure it out," he assures her. "Take all the time you feel you need."

He hears a soft exhale. It sounds more at peace than she did a few minutes ago. A satisfying kind of pride that he hasn't felt in far too long inflates his chest, causing him to sit up a bit straighter against his headboard. He's the one talking her through this and easing her mind. It feels completely wonderful to be needed again, but it especially feels wonderful to be needed by _her._

"You're right," she agrees. "I just want to enjoy this feeling a little longer before the move potentially changes things," she declares. "I'm..._happy_ with the way things are right now."

"Good," he states confidently. "You deserve to be happy, Sylvie."

"Thank you, Matt. I hope you know the feeling's mutual. You deserve to be happy too."

It's interesting the effect that hearing those words can have on a person. He knows them on the most basic level. Believes them to some extent too. But hearing someone he cares about assure him that _they think_ he deserves to be happy is one of the most comforting gestures he's ever experienced. If Sylvie thinks he deserves to be happy, then he does. End of Story.

"Thank you," he replies quietly. "That means a lot, really."

"Anytime," she promises. "Really. I'm here anytime you need reminding."

He chuckles and nods, even knowing she can't see it. "We'll remind each other. How's that sound?"

Her light laugh winds itself around his heart like a vine. That heart may be a little rusty, but damn if Sylvie Brett doesn't know how to make it beat.

"You've got a deal," she answers. "Sounds perfect."

Well, _almost_ perfect. But give him time.

He'll get there.


End file.
